Camlann
by WalkingWit
Summary: The final battle of Camlann. She screams in horror and sees nothing besides the most powerful warlock fall to the ground. Her green eyes glow as she tries to revive him. King Arthur runs Excalibur through the witch in an act of desperation and anger AU.


**This is my first attempt at a Merlin fic. I love the show and the characters, so I thought I'd give it a try. It's slightly AU and my idea of the final battle. I took the name from the legends, but I don't follow it very much. This is set about 20 years after season 4.**

**You should be warned that this is the one show in which I pretty much ship all the ships. And I'm not ashamed one bit.**

**I used google translate for the spells. I typed it in in English, and it translated to Irish.  
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><p><strong>Camlann <strong>

Magic versus magic, soldier versus soldier. That is what the final battle had come to, and not even Kilgarrah could have foreseen the turn of events that would change history forever at Camlann.

The knights of Camelot were in a battle against Mordred's army. Blood seeped into the desolate earth as knight after knight was thrown to the ground like ragdolls. The grey skies darkened and thunder sounded in a distance. Men fell into the nearby river, if not dead, then drowning to death.

She summoned her powers, a ball of energy filling the space between her hands. She sent it flying towards a knight who held a sword at Arthur's throat. Today would not be the end of King Arthur. She would make sure of it.

"Morgause!" she heard someone yell her sister's name.

She whipped around, dark curls suspended in midair. Her eyes widened and she screamed so loudly that the whole of England must have heard.

There was her sister, now safe from a spell as the former manservant had interfered. And his interference cost him his life. Her green eyes could see nothing else but the lightning that struck him, the evil sorceress smirking, her yellow eyes returning to their icy blue.

"Merlin!" she cried, running up the hill to the fallen warlock.

She collapsed next to his body, cradling his head, hoping to see him breathe. Hoping to see him open his eyes and crack a joke.

Nimueh laughed, "Poor Emrys. He could have joined me, but he instead chose to help you. Consider this payback."

Morgana could see nothing but Merlin. She whispered words of the Old Religion, trying to bring him back. Her whispers grew louder until she was nearly chanting.

She tuned out Nimueh's boasting and taunts. Her maniacal laughter was cut short with the sound of a roar. The witch looked down to see blood trickling from her stomach, where Excalibur had pierced her. Her red lips parted and she panted, feeling life escape her. Some say she died laughing. King Arthur pulled out the sword, glaring at the witch as she fell to the ground.

His attention turned immediately to his half-sister and Merlin. Arthur's usually kind blue eyes stormed as he stared at his lifeless friend. Morgana kept chanting, trying everything she could.

"You need to go somewhere safe," he instructed, trying not to let his emotions affect him. _Take him somewhere safe_ he had wanted to add. _Save him._

"I'm not leaving him," her tear streaked face looked as broken as it did when she found out the truth of her parentage.

"Then take him with you," Arthur practically pleaded. He couldn't see Merlin like that. So pale and small, all bones and protruding cheekbones. He liked to mock him, and call him weak, but he knew Merlin was anything but.

Morgana didn't respond, merely letting the magic flow through her as she prayed. If Nimueh could will herself back into existence, or whatever she did, then Merlin could, too.

Morgause, sword by her side, joined her siblings, mouth dry. Her life had just been saved by the man she had tried to kill on countless occasions. Arthur sent her a look, and she could tell he blamed her for his best friend's death.

Morgause tried to place her hand on Morgana's shoulder. She flinched away, covering Merlin's body with her own. She tried to transfer her magic to him.

_"Aistriú mo draíochta isteach air. Lig dó beo,"_ she whispered repeatedly, eyes glowing.

When that didn't work, she tried to change the words around. '_Thabhairt dó__ mo draíochta'_

"Take them to safe ground," Arthur ordered Morgause before setting off.

Morgause looked at her sister, then at Nimueh. With a snarl, she told Morgana they must cast a spell, preventing Nimueh from entering the world ever again.

Morgana nodded, eyes still fixed on Merlin.

_"Ar fud an domhain gar do Nimueh, riamh a thabhairt ar ais"_

Once the spell was cast, Morgana placed her hands on Merlin's heart, hoping for even the faintest of a beat.

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><p>Excalibur felt heavy in his hands as he watched the destruction around him. Knights of Camelot and Mordred's men littered the battlefield, wounded or dead. He whirled around with his sword, running through a soldier.<p>

He snarled as yet another tried to attack him. He was enraged, and wasn't thinking clearly. His best friend was dead, his sister was surely going to go mad, and he had no idea where his wife was. Mordred would pay for the pain and suffering he'd caused.

As he stalked through the field, a long mane of curls caught his eye. Guinevere. Hunched over, hands covering her face. He moved closer, sword still in his hands.

Lancelot was dead, a heap on the ground. There was blood caked on his shirt, next to his heart. Arthur turned away. The most noble knight of all had been slaughtered, added to the list of the dead from Camelot.

Gwen let out a strangled sob as she ran her fingers across his cheek, to his hair. She kissed him softly, briefly on the lips for the last time.

"Goodbye," she stood. She took his sword, staggering backwards, wiping tears from her face. This wasn't how it was supposed to end. Lancelot deserved to live, more than any of them. He'd sacrificed himself so many times before, and now he was gone. He couldn't be, but he was.

"Gwen," Arthur looked at her.

"Arthur," she tried to smile and failed.

He pulled her in for a hug.

"I can't bear to see you hurt. Please, be careful," she whispered.

"You be careful as well," he said.

"I love you," she kissed him urgently.

"I love you, too," he squeezed her hand.

She asked about the whereabouts of her friends. Arthur's face paled and he mumbled, "Merlin's dead."

All Gwen could do is shake her head, fresh tears making their way to the surface. Merlin couldn't die. He was the most powerful warlock in the land, and Arthur's adviser, not to mention closest friend.

Her hold on Lancelot's abandoned sword tightened, and she ran it through the nearest enemy soldier who had tried to sneak up on Arthur.

Mordred had killed too many men as it were. Like hell if they were about to kill her husband.

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><p>Merlin was leaning against a tree, eyes half-lidded. Morgana held his hand, rubbing her fingers over it. Morgause had rejoined the battle, it was the least she could do. Had Morgana known she'd disappear, never to be heard from again, she would have kept her by her side.<p>

"Let me fight," he croaked, trying to stand.

"No," she said firmly, "I won't see you hurt again. I'll go in your place."

"Your powers are gone, Morgana. You're the only reason I'm still alive," Merlin looked at her, his blue eyes darker than ever. It was their magic, fighting it out inside of him.

"I'm still handier with a sword," Morgana boasted, as playful as she could bring herself to be in such dire circumstances.

"Twenty years and you still doubt me," Merlin laughed before coughing.

"I could never doubt you," she thought back to him poisoning her, them trying to kill each other before she finally realised she was wrong and needed a friend, "not anymore."

"Then, help me up. Your prat of a brother needs my help," Merlin said.

Morgana's eyes darted from the tree behind them to Merlin. Perhaps she could seal him inside to keep him safe with the little magic she had left...

"Don't even," Merlin narrowed his eyes.

"Stay out of my mind," Morgana huffed, helping him stand.

They linked arms, ready to head back onto the battlefield.

Morgana kissed him, sweetly, gently, and he smiled.

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><p>The tent for the wounded was filled to the brim. A young girl and boy, twins, held their hands over wounds, casting the incantations their parents had taught them. They looked up from their patients to see the knights.<p>

Percival was in the middle, slumped over. Gwaine and Leon stood on either side, trying to keep him up.

"No," the girl whispered as she saw the extent of Sir Percival's injuries.

There was a deep gash at his side, and his arm was broken. His ribs were broken, as well as his leg. It had been a spell, she knew it. It was one of the most powerful spells that could be cast, causing agonizing pain, but not death. She feared he'd die from the pain. Sir Leon and Sire Gwaine tried to return to the battle, but the boy stopped them. They too were injured. He cast a quick healing spell, just enough to patch them up.

"Do be careful, uncles," the girl said solemnly as she watched members of her extended family rejoin the battle.

Percival groaned in pain. He was bleeding internally, and there was a hole in his head. The girl bit her lips, and tried to ease his pain.

He looked up at the child (because she really was, at only seventeen) and his vision blurred.

"Tell Blanchefleur," he wheezed, "I love her."

"I will, I promise," she clasped his hand. His wife and children would know of his bravery, she could not deny her uncle that. He was the uncle who had given her and her brother piggy-back rides, who had helped them make wooden swords, and who laughed along as uncles Gwaine and Leon took those swords and began to fight each other. He had even attended the tea parties she had with his daughter.

"Where's Elyan?" asked her brother, looking among the soldiers in the tent.

She shrugged. She hadn't seen him since the battle began. She quickly and quietly prayed for the well being of her family and friends. She had not seen her parents in hours, and was beginning to worry.

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><p>Two pairs of blue eyes glared at each other. The King could scarcely believe that this was the little boy he'd helped save years and years ago.<p>

His eyes were cold like Nimueh's, his dark hair obscuring his vision a bit. Arthur couldn't help but think that if the boy smiled and if his eyes were kinder, he'd look a lot like Merlin.

"Mordred," his eyes narrowed.

"Your highness," the younger man said sarcastically.

"Call off your men. You are outnumbered. Leave now and never return, and I shall spare you your life."

Mordred snarled, and his eyes flashed.

"You think you can defeat me? You have no magic. Your beloved warlock is dead, and your sisters incapacitated," Mordred spat venomously.

Arthur held up his shield and sword, lunging at the young man. He uncovered his own sword, and a duel began. Back and forth they went. A scratch here, a scrape there, trying to destroy the other.

With a quick spell, Mordred disarmed the King, stabbing him in the side.

"Goodbye, King Arthur," his eyes remained glowing as he lifted his arm to the heavens, conjuring the power of the elements.

Arthur stared, not letting himself close his eyes.

"Not so fast," he heard, and turned around.

There was Merlin, arms outstretched as he harnessed all the power he had. His power, Morgana's power, and everything deep in the Old Religion flowed through his very being as not only his eyes glowed, but his body too.

Mordred was taken aback. He thought the warlock was dead. The earth began to shake and the thunder roared, sky filled with lightning. The wind picked up and a fire burst from Merlin's hands. All at once, the ground cracked beneath Mordred's feet, the lightning struck him, and the fire burned his flesh.

He screamed in pain, the crack in the ground grew. The flames consumed him and he fell into the crack, dead. He would land into the inferno, burning in hell for all eternity.

Arthur smiled brightly at the sight of Merlin and fell to his knees. Merlin had just killed Mordred. Merlin rushed over to help him. The wound was deep and the bleeding heavy.

Morgana had watched the entire ordeal. Watched as the man she loved kill the boy they had once protected. A single tear slid down her cheek as she mourned Mordred. Not this evil, vengeful Mordred, but the wide-eyed innocent Druid boy he once was.

She hurried to Arthur and Merlin, thankful to be wearing trousers. She knelt on the ground.

"We must take him to Avalon for him to recover," she said.

Merlin nodded and helped her lift him gingerly as they made their way across the field to the tents. Guinevere looked up, relieved to see them alive and well. The twin children let out sighs of relief as they saw their parents and uncle Arthur. The girl thanked the gods for listening to her prayer.

Gwen ran over, hugging her husband and kissing him. She wrapped her arm around his waist to help him stand, Merlin on his other side. Morgana stood next to Merlin and the four set off outside towards Avalon.

The four of them looked out onto the battlefield soaked with the blood of brave men, and of noble men. They had tears in their eyes, mourning the loss of their friends and loved ones. No war was left without casualties. This was no different. The battle was over, and they won. It was finished.

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><p><strong>The end! I hope it wasn't too terrible.<strong> **In one of the legends/stories, Blanchefleur is Percival's beloved, so I thought I'd put that in there. **


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